


Can I Buy You a Drink?

by miinyuu



Category: Hamilton - Miranda
Genre: M/M, Male Strippers, Song fic, Stripper fic, Strippers, aaron burr sir, crackfic, stripclub, technically, to be specific
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-03-12
Updated: 2017-03-15
Packaged: 2018-10-03 01:33:16
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,171
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10232708
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/miinyuu/pseuds/miinyuu
Summary: Hamilton male stripclub modern AU. The Revolution is the best club around, and now that Hamilton's been expelled from school for punching the bursar, well -- my only goal with this fic is to ruin 'Aaron Burr, Sir' for you all like it's now been ruined for me (by me).





	1. Pardon me, are you Aaron Burr, Sir?

**Author's Note:**

> please dear god don't take this seriously

Alexander Hamilton ties his dark brown hair up in a ponytail, looking expectantly at the building before him. He’s only a few blocks away from his school — his _old_ school, he has to remind himself — this street lined with bars, pubs, and, like the one before him now, strip clubs. The busy sounds of the city rush behind him, cars honking their horns and the static chatter of others soaking up the nightlife. He takes a deep breath in and holds it a moment, exhales it again before he approaches the building properly. 

He waits in a fairly short line to get in, but a line nonetheless, one filled with mostly those his age, plenty of people from his college of all sorts of genders and sexualities. He soon makes his way past the bouncer and scans the room, though he’s not much looking at the dancers, not here for quite the same reason as everyone else. He spots a man to one side of the room that matches the description he’d been previously given, the man’s arms folded, guarded, as he talks to one of the waitresses. Alexander makes a beeline for them and stops just short until they finish their conversation, the waitress turning and almost bumping into him. She apologizes and Alexander catches a glance at her name tag — ‘ _Angelica.’_

He doesn’t let this distract him. 

“Pardon me, are you Aaron Burr, sir?” 

The man raises an eyebrow inquisitively. “That depends, who’s asking?” 

“Oh, well sure, sir. I’m Alexander Hamilton, I’m at your service, sir. I have been looking for you.” Alexander extends a hand in greeting, but instead of a handshake he only gets a confused, blank stare in return.

“I’m getting nervous—” Burr says, glancing just past Alexander, taking his own survey of the room now like a cornered animal. He doesn’t quite have the energy to him that Alexander was expecting from someone who owned a strip club. 

“Sir, I heard your name at Princeton,” he explains, “I was seeking an accelerated course of study, when I got sort of… out of sorts with a buddy of yours. I may have punched him, it’s a blur, sir. He handles the financials…?” 

“You punched the bursar.” It’s a statement, not a question. He’s already visibly irritated and uncomfortable by his presence, but still, Alexander pushes on.

“Yes,” he says, immediately moving past this. “I wanted to do what you did, graduate in two—” Alexander stops for a second, and when he starts again his voice has lost a bit of its gusto, a bit of his excitement. “Now my only choice is to join The Revolution,” he drops the name of the club. “He looked at me like I was stupid; I’m _not stupid_. What was I supposed to do?” 

The look on Burr’s face could only be described as incredulous. The way Alexander speaks with such passion, even after getting expelled from one of the most prestigious universities in the country, left with nothing else to do but become a _male stripper_ to make his rent, and he’s still _excited about it,_ it’s something Burr can’t quite comprehend. Owning a successful business is one thing, regardless of the matter of business — taking your clothes off for money was much another. He’d never seen someone quite so excited before even starting the job. 

“Can I buy you a drink?” Burr asks, leading Alexander along the club’s far wall over to the bar counter. 

“That would be nice,” he smiles back. 

Burr leaves Alexander a few steps away from the counter, crowded as it is, as he fetches him a drink. In the meantime Alexander looks over the club more thoroughly, watching the dancer on the main stage with enough focus that he’s a bit startled when Burr taps on his shoulder, offers him a mug of beer. “While we’re talking,” Burr then moves past, gestures with a wave of the hand for Alexander to follow, “let me offer you some free advice.” 

He stops in front of an empty seat, turned sideways away from the table, and nods his head for Alexander to sit down. Burr then turns, scans the crowd, and when he locks eyes with one of his dancers he waves him over. He looks back to Alexander as he says firmly, “Talk less.” 

“What?” He doesn’t think for a second that maybe he shouldn’t have said he got expelled from college for punching someone in the faculty, and one of Burr’s friends, no less. If there was one thing Alexander was not good at, it was keeping his mouth shut. 

The dancer boy has now reached them and with a look from Burr he begins moving his body for Alexander, inching closer as he seductively sways his hips, raises his arms up as part of the dance. Alexander looks up at him from his seat, eyes wide, mesmerized by the freckles dotting his entire face, the way his curls can hardly stay contained pulled back in a way similar to Alexander’s own. He’s beautiful and Alexander is not against this idea, any of this, the way he dances, the way he looks at him, but in front of someone he hopes will soon be signing his paychecks? Not an ideal situation for an erection. He tries to keep his mind elsewhere, off the shape of the man’s round ass in the tight underwear he waves so close to his own body. 

“Smile more.” Burr mirrors the sentiment with his own grin, though it’s more teasing, laughing at Alexander’s obvious discomfort, who can only give a nervous chuckle in reply. He knows he’s being tested, but it’s a damn good test. 

Burr then jokes, “Don’t let them know what you’re against or what you’re… _for_.” 

The freckled boy moves in, a foot on either side of Alexander’s, hovering over him as he leans in, whispers right into Alexander’s ear, close enough to still be heard over the club’s music — describes how badly he wants to ride him _“all night long.”_ He even throws in a comment about how he’d love it if Alexander tied him up just before he pulls back and winks, Alexander’s face betraying himself, eyes wide and lips parted in surprise. And he can’t help himself, the mystery dancer puts his lips once more just by Alexander’s ear, adds, “Or — I have no gag reflex, you could just fuck me right in the mouth if you’d prefer.” 

The grin on his face is justified, because all Alexander can reply with is, “You can’t be serious.” 

“You want to get _ahead_? Fools who ‘run their mouths off’ wind up dead.” Burr’s reply seems rather general, if not rather threatening, but his word choice is quite the coincidence if this wasn’t something the dancer said fairly often. Alexander has to remind himself that this is a test, that he can’t be distracted. Still, he is taken off-guard when the dancer laughs and takes a step back, calls out for the entire club to hear, “What time is it?” 

Multiple male voices respond in practiced unison, “Show time!” 

Alexander’s dancer echoes back, “Showtime, showtime, yo! I’m John Laurens in the place to be,” he finally introduces himself, rather musically, hips swaying in what seems to be Alexander’s direction still, despite the two or three feet of distance between them now. “Two pints of Sam Adams,” he takes a step in again to place his hand over Alexander’s, the one that still somehow has the motor function to hold his glass. John’s hand guides his own to take a sip from the mug, “but we’re working on three, ha! Those Redcoats,” he mentions the name of another nearby club, one that also features male dancers, though it seems to get more female clientele than this one, “don’t want it with me!” Now he properly straddles Alexander, who is practically frozen in place by this point, something he feels is a bit against himself. Normally he would be flirting right back, take the boy up on his offer if he could, but with his potential future boss watching, what was he supposed to do about all this? Especially when John rolls his hips toward his own, almost touching though he makes sure not to, his bright eyes focused down on him. Alexander laments that he doesn’t even have any small bills on him. 

John finishes with, “ ‘Cause I will pop chick-a pop these cops till I’m free!” 

Suddenly the room’s focus shifts to another dancer, one Alexander had seen up on the stage just a few moments ago. He taps John on the shoulder, calls his attention so he can take a step back, making an official end to his dance. The new dancer wastes no time in straddling Alexander’s hips in his place, towering right over him. Alexander looks up to meet a man with perfectly groomed stubble and even wilder curls than the last, though also tied back behind his head, as is the trend, it seems. 

The new dancer wastes no time in introducing himself, his thick French accent immediately apparent. “Oui oui, mon ami, je m’appelle Lafayette,” he smirks, placing a hand on Alexander’s shoulder as he shakes his hips, “the Lancelot of The Revolution’s Friday night set.” Lafayette leans in, brings his face inches from Alexander’s like he’s about to kiss him, and then pulls back again. 

“I came from afar just to say ‘Bonsoir,’ tell the king ‘casse toi.’” Lafayette starts to do body rolls, his piercing gaze down on Alexander who looks up at him, stunned. He tries so hard to hold himself back. “Who is the best?” Lafayette teases before leaning in, whispering right into Alexander’s ear, “c’est moi.” 

Lafayette steps back from Alexander then, turns to John who had stayed to watch the show. They exchange glances and begin dancing with each other, dancing _off of_ each other, making it into their own little game as another dancer takes over from the main stage. 

“Brrah, brrah,” he calls attention to himself, though Alexander’s eyes only glance over for so long before his attention is caught again by the other two men so much closer to him. Alexander has forgotten all about Burr who still stands only a few feet away, to one side of him; he’s practically even forgotten about the job he’s trying so desperately to get. 

He’s only brought back to reality when Lafayette turns his head toward the stage, calls out a “Wow,” before John picks it back up again. 

“No more sex,” he says as he backs up from Lafayette and the way the two had been practically grinding on each other, “pour me another brew, son!” John reaches out and takes Alexander’s glass from him just to raise it in the air, get many of the club’s patrons to join him as he calls out, “Let’s raise a couple more!” 

He’s joined by the rest of the club’s staff when he shouts, “To The Revolution!” 

Alexander stands up, brushes himself off, takes a deep breath to try to regain his focus. He tries to collect himself and remember why he’s here. He needs a job, he can’t be distracted by such things. At least — not yet. 

John hands Alexander his drink once again before he takes the few steps to meet Burr, grinning ear to ear as he rests his arm on the bar manager’s shoulder. “Well if it ain’t the prodigy of Princeton college, Aaron Burr. Give us a verse, drop some knowledge?” 

Burr shoots John a glare, one that says this game has been played before. “Good luck with that, you’re doing your dance. You spit, I’ma sit, we’ll see where we land.” With that Burr already has his back turned to them, headed to the VIP area of the club to sit down, not saying another word to Alexander. He’s already deemed him not worthy of working here, how easily he gets flustered, distracted, how unprofessional this was. He can’t have people working for him who are bound to end up fraternizing with each other, it’s not good for the business. 

But Alexander won’t give up that easily. He never has and is positive he never will. 

John urges him to give Alexander a chance, throwing an arm around him as they watch Burr’s back, not turning to give them the time of day when John calls, ““Burr, the competition’s imminent, what do you stall for?”

This is when Alexander speaks up, the whole club at this point with their eyes on them. “Are you just afraid that I’ll have them on all fours?” 

The shock on John’s face is a sight to behold. He looks to Alexander beside him with shock on his face as he exclaims, hardly able to keep down a smug grin, “Ooh, who’re you?” 

Mulligan follows suit, “Who’re you?” 

And Lafayette completes it with his own carefully enunciated, “Who are you?” 

All three of them are in unison then in asking, “Who is this kid? What’s he gonna do?” 

Alexander steels himself, makes his way through the crowd to climb up the stairs to one side of the stage. “I am not throwing away my shot!” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> End of chapter 1 ;) Please leave comments for a chapter 2!! I have plans including possible smut but *madison voice* well we'll see how it goes...


	2. I am not throwing away my shot

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ladies and gentlemen, you could have been anywhere in the world tonight, but you're here, reading a goddamn hamilton stripper au fic  
> (thanks)

With his taking the stage, Alexander has a leg up on the competition — and a leg up on the pole; that and one hand holding him up as he arches his back, leans backward as far as he can, and rolls his body in time with the music. A few cheers from the audience encourage him, then standing upright again but still moving his chest in waves as he reaches up for the back of his shirt, stops only so he can pull it off. He twirls the shirt over his head before letting it fly onto the stage behind him — a very cliché move, if you were to ask one of the other dancers that take glances at him while busied with their own customers — but it gets the crowd riled up anyway. 

Alexander doesn’t quite have a dancer’s body, at least not yet. He’s not in bad shape, but those he hopes will soon be his coworkers are visibly much better off. He had been very studious in school, reading and writing taking priority over physical exercise a majority of the time. This will have to change soon, he guesses. 

But as he widens his stance, rocks his hips back and forth as his hands slide teasingly slow down his thighs — no one seems to mind, tossing money on the stage for him. The attention has already gone to his head, and it’s not lost on him that no one has come to fetch him, that Burr hasn’t pulled him off stage yet and kicked him out of the club for good. So, he decides, maybe he should introduce himself? 

He says in time with the music, “I am the A-L-E-X-A-N-D-E-R, we are meant to be!” He gestures with his hands like his name is already up in flashing lights. Alexander is nothing if not a dreamer. 

John decides after he’s finished dancing for a man about his age that he’s going to join Alexander on the stage. In passing Lafayette, he says into his ear, just loud enough to be heard over the music: “They’ll tell the story of tonight.” They catch each other’s eyes and John can only grin. 

Mulligan is soon to join them and Lafayette himself not far behind, the four deciding to put on a grand show they make up on the spot. Alexander approaches the stage edge at one point so a slightly older man (though quite handsome, he would make sure to note) can put a bill in his pocket, Alexander’s jeans unzipped but not moved much from their place on his hips yet. 

He only catches a brief glimpse at the time, but he swears the bill is a fifty. 

Alexander scans the crowd to find Burr at his table, a woman by his side. With his newfound friends at his, Hamilton calls out directly to the club manager. “Burr, check what we got! Mister Lafayette, hard rock like Lancelot,” he says before making way for Lafayette’s own little show. 

The frenchman takes the pole in both hands, takes a step and a half to get a spin around it going, only to kick up and let go of one hand, spinning gracefully around the pole. When his feet touch the ground again he uses the momentum from the swing to turn and leap back into another, this time both hands staying on the pole, his body extending out perfectly perpendicular with the pole itself, arm muscles sharply defined as he holds his body out like this. When this spin slows he doesn’t stop but instead swings one leg back up, curls his torso in enough to get it to touch, get his leg to wrap around the pole so he can let go of one hand, then the other. When he finally drops to the stage floor again he takes a small bow and then a step back to make room for Alexander once more. 

He continues, gesturing to Hercules who had already been entertaining two women who sit right by the stage. “I think your pants look hot,” Alexander laughs, and Mulligan turns around to face backwards now, lean forward a bit to accentuate the curve of his ass in the tight booty shorts they all wear (save for Alexander). He widens his stance and shakes his hips, alternating the speed with perfect precision for his seduction, soon turning back around and locking eyes with one of the girls as he licks his lips. They both cheer and toss more money onto the stage. 

One of the waitresses, Eliza, watches Alexander from the bar with great focus, her shift having ended, though she stays for now to go home with her sisters later in the night. When Angelica passes on her way to get food for one of her tables, Eliza makes sure to point him out. 

“This one’s mine,” she grins.

“Laurens, I like you a lot,” Alexander continues from up on the stage. He turns to the boy next to him and they both smile, John placing a hand on Alexander’s shoulder to keep him close as both of them roll their hips toward each other, earning plenty of cheers from the crowd. They lock eyes for a split second before John looks away, turns his head sideways to face the audience. When he faces forward again he separates from Alexander, though only so he can get on his knees, shimmy his dance partner’s jeans down to his ankles so he can step out of them — and John does this using his teeth. 

“Eliza, don’t get me wrong,” Angelica says, “you’re a wonderful girl, and I love you, really, but I’m not so sure he would be interested.” She laughs. 

“Get with the times,” Eliza teases back. “He could be bisexual! What is this, the 1700s?” 

“Oh, did they not exist back then?” Both girls laugh. 

Eliza’s focused gaze on Alexander is not entirely unnoticed, and when the two lock eyes for a brief second as he looks into the crowd, she immediately turns back to Angelica, blushing. 

“Hey,” Angelica says, grinning as she fills a tray with food, “if you really love me, we _could_ share him…” 

“Ha!”

Alexander’s briefs might not quite match the rest of the dancers, but the two boys perform well anyway — continuing to make up dance moves on the spot, Lafayette dancing off Mulligan for a bit too before the song ends. 

When it does, despite its graceful flow into another, the four strike individual poses and receive plenty of cheers from the crowd. Alexander slips his jeans back on but hastily leaves his shirt for the time being, and he is barely off the stage when he begins looking for Burr, desperate to see if he has proved himself worthy. 

Soon enough Alexander is headed back and scanning the crowd for the three of them, delivering the good news to them each individually between customers. He receives a hearty clap on the back in congratulations from Hercules, a cheer from John, and a “félicitations” from Marquis. 

Alexander doesn’t think until later that night to ask about the man who gave him the fifty dollar bill. 

Hamilton’s passion for the job does not quickly fade — he truly dedicates himself to learning to dance properly, learning who their regular customers are, learning how to use the few poles they had set up. This in particular requires more body strength than he has just yet, but still he takes tips from Lafayette in particular when the two have time. 

Alexander also makes it a point to talk to his coworkers whenever they can manage, try to make friends with everyone. He hears countless tales from Mulligan, stories of his life outside work that make his dancing at a strip club look like an office job. He trades different stories with Lafayette, always trying to one-up each other in some way, making a good majority of their conversations into teasing banter and laughs. 

Laurens is another story all his own. Alexander got his phone number very early on and the two make sure to text often, swapping jokes, sharing dumb internet memes, occasionally discussing their problems and talking more seriously. Though if one were to read any of their messages, they would be blind to not notice nearly every interaction laced with flirting tones. The two liked to pretend they were subtle, and were careful to tone things down at work, but occasionally for higher-paying customers the two would do a joint show, playing off the homoerotic subtext of their friendship. A sort of friendship that could, in the end, be summed up as simply, _friends that haven’t quite reached the ‘with benefits’ stage._ And everyone else knew it, too. 

Alexander befriends the waitresses at the bar as well, finding out very quickly that all three of them were sisters. The youngest, Peggy, was often out sick, but Angelica and Eliza were quick to pick up the slack in her place. Alexander frequently found himself in battles of wits with Angelica, discussing books they had read, things he had written; and his friendship with Eliza was also particularly close, her energy always seeming to rub off on him. He gets a strong feeling that she’s interested in him, and he doesn’t hesitate to flirt with her when nobody else is looking, though he knows as he knows with John — he can’t pursue anything for real. 

And Aaron Burr, the last piece of the puzzle as Hamilton tries to get on everyone’s good side? Well, he signs his paycheck, so that’s good enough for him. Most of the time. 

“So I have this idea for a choreographed dance,” he explains to Burr one evening before his shift starts. “It would use two of the poles, and…” 

“Choreographed?”

“Yeah! I know a lot of our dancing is just for individual clients, but when we have the bigger shows on the weekend, I think a big pre-rehearsed number would be pretty interesting, right? It could draw really big crowds if we advertise it beforehand, too!" 

“Alexander, that’s not how it’s done,” is Burr’s half-assed attempt at explaining himself. 

“But it could be!” is the fiery response he gets back. “What’s the harm?” 

Burr can only sigh. “You’ll have to show it to me before I agree to anything. The full dance, and no practicing it on company time. No looking foolish in front of paying customers, understand?” 

Later that evening, John, at home on his day off, receives a message from Alexander that simply reads, “I have an idea.” 

He only takes a moment to respond, excited but also a bit skeptical. “yeah?” 

Three blinking grey dots appear on his screen and remain for a worrying amount of time. He already knows Alexander well enough to know this isn’t good. He locks his phone as he waits, briefly returning to writing his newest post on his social justice blog before the message finally comes in. 

It reads, “Asshole Burr doesn’t like my plan, but I want to know what you think. Choreographed routines at work, good idea or bad? It wouldn’t be all the time, but for special occasions I think we should do something special. He was against the idea, and why? It would bring in great revenue, and tips too. He wouldn’t even give me a straight answer. What a fucking joke. Anything to spite me, isn’t that just how he is?” 

By the time John has read the messages, typed out half of an, “i don’t think its a bad idea”, Alexander has already added onto his first message with another. 

“Anyway, my point is, did you want to come over one of these days and practice a routine with me?” 

John smiles and simply sends a thumbs-up emoji in response. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> did you guys know that daveed diggs has an 8-pack? he's shredded??  
> I, A Big Lesbian™, got distracted like five times by this fact while writing this chapter... I thought he was only kinda muscular but also kinda lanky.... I was WRONG. 
> 
> anyway. 
> 
> I’m having a lot more fun with this than I expected, so as long as I keep getting comments to motivate me I definitely have ideas to at least take me into chapter 5, if not further!! I’m not just fishing for compliments when I say I need comments though — they’re really all that keeps me motivated enough to keep on top of writing instead of putting it off indefinitely…. so keep ‘em coming pls if you want more :D and it if helps any...... the next chapter will bring the fic’s rating up to explicit LOL


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